Part 2 (1/2)
The Penfolds looked a little surprised, but not much. They had no street door all to themselves; no liveried dragons to interpose between them and unseasonable or unwelcome visitors.
The man was well dressed, with one exception; he wore a gold chain. He had a hooked nose, and a black, piercing eye. He stood at the door and observed every person and thing in the room minutely before he spoke a word.
Then he said, quietly, ”Mr. Michael Penfold, I believe.”
”At your service, sir.
”And Mr. Robert Penfold.”
”I am Robert Penfold. What is your business?”
”Pray is the 'Robert Penfold' at the back of this note your writing?”
”Certainly it is; they would not cash it without that.”
”Oh, you got the money, then?”
”Of course I did.”
”You have not parted with it, have you?”
”No.”
”All the better.” He then turned to Michael and looked at him earnestly a moment. ”The fact is, sir,” said he, ”there is a little irregularity about this bill which must be explained, or your son might be called on to refund the cash.”
”'Irregularity about--a bill?” cried Michael Penfold, in dismay ”Who is the drawer? Let me see it. Oh, dear me, something wrong about a bill indorsed by you, Robert?” and the old man began to shake piteously.
”Why, father,” said Robert, ”what are you afraid of? If the bill is irregular I can but return the money. It is in the house.”
”The best way will be for Mr. Robert Penfold to go at once with me to the bill-broker; he lives but a few doors off. And you, sir, must stay here and be responsible for the funds, till we return.”
Robert Penfold took his hat directly, and went off with this mysterious visitor.
They had not gone many steps, when Robert's companion stopped, and, getting in front of him, said, ”We can settle this matter here.” At the same time a policeman crossed the way and joined them; and another man, who was, in fact, a policeman in plain clothes, emerged from a doorway and stood at Robert Penfold's back.
The detective, having thus surrounded him, threw off his disguise. ”My man,” said he, ”I ought to have done this job in your house. But I looked at the worthy old gentleman and his gray hairs. I thought I'd spare him all I could. I have a warrant to arrest you for forgery!”
”Forgery! arrest me for forgery!” said Robert Penfold, with some amazement, but little emotion; for he hardly seemed to take it in, in all its horrible significance.
The next moment, however, he turned pale, and almost staggered under the blow.
”We had better go to Mr. Wardlaw,” said he. ”I entreat you to go to him with me.”
”Can't be done,” said the detective. ”Wardlaw has nothing to do with it.
The bill is stopped. You are arrested by the gent that cashed it. Here is the warrant; will you go quietly with us, or must I put the darbies on?”
Robert was violently agitated. ”There is no need to arrest me,” he cried; ”I shall not run from my accuser. Hands off, I say. I'm a clergyman of the Church of England, and you shall not lay hands on me.”
But one of the policemen did lay hands on him. Then the Reverend Robert Penfold shook him furiously off, and, with one active bound, sprang into the middle of the road.
The officers went at him incautiously, and the head detective, as he rushed forward, received a heavy blow on the neck and jaw that sounded along the street, and sent him rolling in the mud; this was followed by a quick succession of staggering facers, administered right and left on the eyes and noses of the subordinates. These, however, though bruised and bleeding, succeeded at last in grappling their man, and all came to the ground together, and there struggled furiously; every window in the street was open by this time, and at one the white hair and reverend face of Michael Penfold looked out on this desperate and unseemly struggle with hands that beat the air in helpless agony and inarticulate cries of terror.